


With the Burn of a Feeling

by SikNtrd



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cigarettes, Coming Out, M/M, Memories, Period Typical Attitudes, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-26 01:19:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15652830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SikNtrd/pseuds/SikNtrd
Summary: It's not cigarettes that bother him. Not the fact that they're a bad thing now.It's what it makes him think about that bother him. Or more like who.--Steve is out of the ice, learn a few things about this century and remember other. Along the way, there's great surprises.





	With the Burn of a Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> This started from a small idea about Bucky and smoking and I got caried away. It also got kinda sad toward the end, but it has a hopeful note.
> 
> It deals with Bucky's death, and Steve adjusting in this century, there's language, talk about Bucky's death, and sex scenes that are only suggested, not explicit.
> 
> English is not my first language, feel free to point out any typos or mistakes!
> 
> Enjoy!

The first time he smoked a cigarette, Steve was maybe twenty-one, or twenty-two, alone with Bucky in a bar. It was late in the night, after a long day of work, and Bucky lit one like he always does. Steve watched a long time the burning end, the small red dot before holding his hand out. Cigarettes are supposed to help with asthma, right? Bucky gave it him, he warped his lips around it, not caring about the wet sensation already there and took a long drag. He couldn’t hold it more than a few second, he coughed his lungs out and had to run outside to puke all the alcohol he drank that night. That put him right into an asthma attack, he didn't try again after that and Bucky made sure to not smoke anymore near Steve. 

Since he couldn't smoke, he got a strange love/hate idealization of it. Seeing others doing it, seeing Bucky smoking so much, and he couldn’t share that? That made him angry, but well, that was just another downside of his life. 

Then he got the serum, and he went to the front after that awful USO propaganda tour. Not that he minded so much putting a good message out there. He just wanted to do more, to act where it was most needed and not feel like a puppet, a simple tool when he could do so much more. He shipped all the way over the ocean and saved the 107th, got himself a new family with those bastards along the way. He loved them. 

One day Dum Dum found a pack of cig on the corps of an SS, he shoved it in his pocket and took it out the very night around the fire camp. After the screams of joy, they all got one and a lighter went hands to hands. Steve held it in front of him, eyeing Bucky who was smiling at him. He remembered the first and last try as well as Steve did. He tilted his head, a dare like they did so much between them. Dare you to try that, dare you to do more, to try again, dare you to kiss me in that very alley, dare you to stole that ugly thing from the Carey brothers from the building two blocks over. 

So Steve lit it, and took a drag, felt the burning sensation in his lungs and the euphoria that took over him as he blew out. He could do it. He could bound through cigarettes now. It wasn’t much for the others, but Steve felt himself calm down as he watched Bucky and Gabe play with some dirty cards, and listened to Dernier chatting too fast in French. He's gotta learn French, he really wants to know what that little asshole babbles all day.

 

When he first woke up, he didn’t had much time to think about the small things. So much had changed, he first tried to remember all the changes in politics, all the history that happened between all those countries when he was under the ice. He needed to draw the big lines before thinking about the rest. Who to trust, according to history. Who supported the wrong one, who lied and hide truth and hurt their people. 

So when after a particularly rough mission with the Avengers –minus Thor, away for political issue in Asgard- he found himself sitting down on a forest ground, dirty with blood and guts next to Stark and Banner bickering about logistics, Barton playing with his arrows, feet on Natasha's thighs, he saw himself back to the war with his Howling Commando. He got the urge to share a smoke like he used to, and patted himself down. 

“Anyone has a smoke? I could use one now.” He tried not to wince at the bit of flesh on the back of his hand. He quickly shook it, then realized the talking had turned down. He looked around, to see all the Avengers staring at him. “What?” He managed, confused. 

“You know that smoking is bad, right?” Said Stark. He looked awful, eyes black with bruises and his cheeks bloody. Shoulders slouched down even with the armor still on him. 

“ _What?_ ” He repeated, and he hoped he didn’t looked as lost as he felt. 

“Yeah, there’s a bunch of bad shit in there. Fucks up your lungs, gives you asthma, cancer, shit load of bad disease and a bad smell too.” Clint added with humor. 

“You didn’t know?” Asked Banner, more gently than he should have. 

“No. I mean, doctors used to tell me to smoke to make my asthma better. Wow...” He looked down at his hands. He just wanted some team bonding with them, just like he did with the Howling. They’ve been smoking so much during the war, even with the small production of cig. 

“Wild.” Commented Barton then kept fiddling with his arrows. 

“Yeah.” Steve croaked out. “Guess I'll have to found something else to do. I mean, we used to do that as much as we could. Back then.” He knows that it can bother people, how much he talks about the old time. He tries not to bring it up so much, unless he’s asked to. “Gonna have to read more.” He joked and hoped they could change the subject. 

“If you want team bonding,” Started Stark with a light in his eyes. How can the guy put his finger on something and still act cluelessly? Maybe he is? Maybe he plays a role, just like Barton plays dumb to keep control. Steve doesn’t get the guy much. “We can go to a bar. Drink a bit. Also, there’s clubs. We could do a hike like they do in camps but I'm not one for long walk on the beach...” He kept babbling about group excursions and Steve listened with one ear the others arguing about what to do while waiting for extraction. 

He already has five fines for driving his bike without a helmet. Keep forgetting he has to. He has trouble drinking coffee, doesn’t taste like the shitty bean water from his small Brooklyn flat and army days. Never cook for anyone –not that he has much people coming over- because they all think that his cooking is shit now that there’s much more type of food and spice and method to prepare things that he never heard of. The smoking thing surprise him, but he’s gonna be fine. He either can accept it and live with his time or drown in nostalgia and just lose his will to live. 

 

The next time cigarettes came up, he was sitting at a cafe, drawing the surroundings. In this part of the town people don’t react much to his face. The waitress recognized him, he knew it, but after the small surprise on her face and a whispered thank you she left him alone and didn’t bother him. He likes talking with people, he really does, but he also needs some times alone. Everyone does, he thinks. 

On the table next to him, two women, in their forties maybe, were talking about their lives, families. One brought up the dating life of her daughter, and shared her concerned about the guy she was seeing. 

“He’s not right. He has this look. And he _smokes_.” The last word came out like it was a slur. 

“Thugs smokes, not respectable people.” The other added, busy putting sugar in her own cup. 

“That’s what I told her! When some is that eager to ruin his life with those death stick, he’s not good for anyone.” He saw her shaking her head and pursing her lips in a disapproving way, similar to his mother -surely every mother has those kinds of faces for when their kids don’t behave. 

If now smoking is a bad boy thing, then Bucky would have totally fitted right. It put a smile on his face. 

Steve was brought a few years back, to friends and colleagues smoking together after their shifts. It was tattoos that were badly seen, from what he knows they’re still a bad thing in most part of the world but a lot more have them, and so much more kind, art styles. Steve loves seeing those artworks on people’s body on the street, at workplaces. Now they can be good. 

Back then, smoking meant having enough money to buy them, and socializing. It was pretty good. Today it’s frown upon. A lot changed. A lot changed, but the smell of cigarettes still makes Steve think of Bucky. His mind associated them so strongly, he doesn’t think he can stop it. He doesn't think he even want to. He gets those soft, nice memories of he and Buck from more peaceful time -not easier, or less stressful, but simpler- and it helps him remember that they were real, they had something. A death and seventy years later can’t erase him from his head. 

He doesn’t want to stay stuck in the past, but he can cherish what he had. No one can expect him to be a brand-new man so quick. He’s allowed to cry about his lost and live a bit in his memories, for now. 

 

He keeps trying. It's hard, he has some rough days. Cold water brings back too much, and he’s not subtle when he gets lost in his head. He could change that, but he doesn’t want to. Doesn’t have the strength to hide his feelings. Not anymore. 

Natasha knows something is up. She has that face, the small grin she doesn’t hide and a spark in the eyes. She knows something is up and she’s gonna find out. So when she takes out a pack of cigarettes out of her purse and slide one between her lips and grins at him, Steve sighs. Of course she would try to dig and see what comes out. He knows he’s not subtle. He’s daydreaming a lot between missions with her, and a few times he realized he even gets smiles, or tears in his eyes. 

“Want a smoke?” She asks, slight tension in her voice from her smile. 

“I thought smoking was bad?” He answers and comes standing next to her. This party he’s at isn’t too big, but clearly not intimist. Made for PR, with politicians, some journalists and a few other important people. He’s in a corner with a few seats, Stark is standing there with a glass full of expensive alcohol. Natasha just sat in the couch, arms sprawled over the back. Bruce decided to hide there too, catching his breath from the party and searching something on his phone. 

“Cut the bullshit Rogers, you and I both know what the serum can do. I won’t die from that.” He ignores the implied _I can die from many others ways and that would be okay_ he senses. She lights it up, and sit back in the couch, knees slightly apart. And shit, she looks so much like Bucky right now. With that stupid smirk, the strange sparkle in her eyes, the laid back and full of shit posture. He knows he shouldn't let it be seen, but he doesn’t care. He tenses up his shoulder and close his posture. 

“What, Captain righteous America doesn’t like it when people smokes?” She knows damn well that it's going to get the attention of stark. Yeah, now he’s looking. 

“Captain apple pie, would you hate smoking?” He chimes in, a grin on his face. 

“You know I don’t. I’m just going with the time. It ain’t the 40s anymore, gotta do it the way they do now.” He sits down over the other side of the couch, but keeps his glass in his hand. Without the shield, he uses what he can to keep posture. 

“Then why you get all tense up and weird every time someone is smoking?” She continues. She doesn’t event try to hide her interrogation. 

“I don’t get tensed up.” He replies like a dumb 13 years old. Used to have better come back. 

“You do Capsicle.” Mocks Tony Stark. “Those big shoulders of you betrays you. And you get that weird face thing too. Like it bothers you.” Natasha keeps a firm face, with knowing eyes but doesn’t say anything. 

“It just...” He sighs and rub his face. “It reminds me. Reminds me of the past you know, when I was young. Lot of people used to smoke. Friends... I had a friend, Bucky. He... He smoked a lot too.” 

“He did?” She asks, eyes on him with force. Bruce is listening now, and even Stark had shut up. 

“Yeah.” He manages to croak out. He’s in too deep. What the hell does he risk anyway? They're good people, he can loosen up a little. “He used to...” He waves toward Natasha. What? Smokes? Open his knees in the most devious way to make Steve blush when they were out and maybe just a bit too tipsy? Hide his pack so he didn’t get the urge to smoke inside? Made sure the smell was out when he did before Steve came back? Forgetting that small rule after sex?

 

It shouldn't have been sexy, in the too small room with the stale smell in the air and humidity leaking through their walls, with the tiny windows that let the cold in if they don’t put a cloth in the right places and their old cot. But Bucky is lying there, naked in his whole glory, thighs flexing as he draws his right knee up and let his other leg fall away from his body. He has an arm tucked behind his head, a cigarette between his lips and his eyes closed. 

A poet could have written lines about angel being in the lights of heaven. Steve just thought that the dusty light of the room touched his body in the right ways to show off his good looks, lazy in the Sunday afternoon. 

The sweat on his skin is drying, but he still has some shiny beads on his forehead and upper lip. Their poor excuse of blankets barely cover him, he doesn’t shy away from nudity like Steve does. He just smirks when he sees Steve’s eyes linger on his crotch and let his legs fall apart a little more. 

“You like the view?” He pushes himself up on his elbow and look at Steve under his eyelashes. It’s the kind of look he knows gets him weak knees and hot cheeks from anyone. Steve has been on the receiving end for so long, though it still makes his guts twist, especially without any clothes involved. 

“Can’t complain.” Retorts Steve as he crawls back into the bed. He put a shirt on to keep his still sick lungs warm, but didn’t bothered to close it, it hangs loosely against his side. He learned to live with his body, even like it a little. At least, when he’s behind closed doors, with Bucky near him. He can’t keep thinking disgusting things about himself with the sort of looks and touches that Bucky keeps giving him. 

With time, he learned. He learned that his fist can break noses, makes goosebumps appears on skins and ideas come real on paper. His lungs are shitty, rattles a lot and get sick but also let him breath, sing under his breath and make jokes, good conversation. His body is smaller than most, hurts and is broken in a lot of ways, but it carries him, let dames dance for a few hours, and feels so much. 

He will never be quite satisfied with it, but he can make do. He can be happy with it a few hours a day, with Bucky near him, but also when he’s lost in his drawings and when he can talk, show people how brave and worthy he is. 

Bucky slowly pushes his hand up Steve's torso under the shirt, then take the cigarette in his other and blows smoke away. He barely closes his eyes and the vision is downright sinful. Steve bites his lip and plunge forward to kiss him. 

“Nah, the smoke, gonna get sick.” Mutters Bucky, but doesn’t stop kissing back. 

“Don’t care.” Breathes Steve. He pushes against him and slides his hands on his neck. It goes on a few moments, with a brush of tongue and a scrap of nails. Shudders when Bucky’s hand found his way down under the collar of his shirt 

“I care, I'm not gonna waste a good cig just like that.” He pulls back to take another drag, a smirk on his face. 

“Suit yourself.” Steve groans. Bucky falls back down on the pillow with a smug face, sure he won. From where he is, straddling his hips, Steve gets an amazing view. He looks at the pulled muscles of his chest from the arm he slid back under his head, the abs under the small layer of fat over his belly. The trail of hair on his navel and over his pecs. His head, pushed back shows his subtle-covered throat and sharp jaw. He rolls his hips once and arc his back, so sure of himself and full of confidence. 

But Steve didn’t give his last words. He oh so slowly kisses down his jaw, and neck, and shoulders and collarbones towards his chest. He watches him close his eyes and relax under the small attentions and closes his mouth around Bucky’s nipple at the same time he does with his cigarette. That gets him a gap, and then a few coughs from him as he stands up to see the betrayed look on Bucky's face. 

“Thought you didn’t wanted to waste a smoke?” He grins, bracing himself with his hands still on Bucky’s sides. 

“You’re a punk, you know that.” Steve just gives a vague “mm” as an answer and returns to the chest in front of him, covering it in kisses and touches until he hears Bucky’s heart speeding up. 

He feels Bucky pulls his hand from under the pillow and slide it on Steve head. He feels the finger playing with his hair while the other keeps holding the cig like it’s his own life and a wave of love flares inside him. 

 

Suddenly the air feels too tight, too heavy and hot. Steve clear his throat, realizing he’s been silent for maybe a bit too long. He tries to force his eyes to focus on something material and suck a deep breath. Bad idea to get a boner right now in the middle of a room filled with all the Avengers and other highly important people. His tongue is heavy in his mouth and his palms feel too sweaty. He doesn’t get lost in his thought like that unless he’s alone. Which he’s very aware that he isn’t right now. 

“Shit, sorry.” He coughs and drink a bit to calm down. 

“He used to what?” Pushes Natasha. She lost her playing face, she looks way too serious now. 

“Used to smoke. But he made sure to not do that when I was near, he knew I got sick because of it.” Shit, he hopes he can regain his mind quickly. He knows the signs, dilated pupils, heavy breath, sweat. He hopes they don’t see that on him. 

Natasha look straight at him while taking another long drag, closing her lips tightly around the cigarette. She knows. 

“Very considerate. Thoughtful.” This time it’s Stark and no, even him caught up? 

“Yeah. He was a good friend.” He gave up on trying to hide his emotions. He feels his throat tight, the way his lips are trebling so slightly. He closes his eyes a few seconds, not looking at anyone. 

“The friend who moved in with you after your mom died, right?” Banner asks, carefully, with a soft voice. 

“Read your homework?” Steve winces at the unnecessary anger in his words. “Yeah, we were pretty close. Helped me a lot, you know.” He shrugs and keeps his eyes on the table. He shifts in his seat uncomfortably. The heat he felt previously with that memory is gone, now it’s more like shame and guilt than desire. 

He knows times are different. It's one of the first thing he looked up. How they did now, the queer that used to hide in the shadows. They did pretty good. They're the LGBT now, they have prides, official spaces and representations. They have marriage, respect and career when they’re openly gay and trans. They’re still getting shit, but wow, Steve can be glad to be in the future for one thing. 

But even if it’s different now, he’s still Captain America. What would the world think of a faggot hero? 

“That was good of him.” Stark sat down in the couch in front of him and he has a weird look on his face. He’s not dumb, he saw some of those article, sexual sandals. Bisexual Iron Man. World went crazy. He knows Tony hates Captain America, the miracle of his father, the one that always took the lights and made him look weak and not enough. How would he react if he founds out his idol is queer too? 

“That’s what friends are for right?” Steve doesn’t know what to do. He panics. He finishes his drink and gets up. “I’m gonna find another thing... to drink.” He clear his throat again and leave them to walk toward the bar. 

 

“He helped you out huh?” Asks Natasha, bumping their shoulders. She found him, not that he was hiding. He walked to the roof of the tower, no drink in his hand and sat down with his feet over the edge. She joined him, her own feet tucked under her tighs. 

“You guessed?” Steve doesn’t bother looking up. She had abandoned the cigarette, at least. They bounded, quicker than he thought they could. Fury paired them often with a strike team for stealth mission. Tony has others occupations, he works with organizations to provide help around the world, with technologies, and Banner can’t help on the field, so he stays in labs and work along doctors and professors. Clint apparently has other businesses, so the two of them get quite a lot of missions together. 

She’s a great person. She doesn’t pity him, does pick at him and makes him feel like he has a friend again that doesn’t hold back on the jokes and comments, but can still land him an open hear when he needs to. She may not talk much, but he appreciates her. Can’t say he’s her friend though, he doesn’t think she has those. Doesn’t have much trust, and he can’t blame her, not with what he read about her in reports. 

“With the show you put out there?” She grins. “Not that hard. But yeah, I suspected. You hid it well. Guess you had to back then. You didn’t look at Clint’s ass once, and let me tell you he has some fine piece of art down there.” 

“Right.” Steve allows a small laugh to escape his throat. It feels studently too dry. 

“So, you into men?” Steve has to take a deep breath instead of hissing at her. It’s not the same now. They can talk freely about it. 

“Nah, both. Didn’t really had a word I guess. Not that we’d want that. You were either queer or not queer.” 

“You and Peggy?” 

“It could have been. She was amazing. But I had Bucky. If not for him or the 70 years sleep in the ice, yeah, I would have tried to be with her.” Steve recoils sadly. When he first saw her, he saw the kind of excuses queer people had to take to live in peace. Not that he would have married her if he wasn’t sure she’d be the right one. Couldn’t do that to someone else. He wasn’t worried about her, he knew she could very well say no to anyone and choose for herself. 

“Bucky.” He can’t hear anything in the blank voice Natasha is using. 

“What about him?” 

“You loved him?” Steve stays silent a long time, thinking back at him, his smile, the charming one he used to get things and the bright one he gave to the people he loved. Steve could’ve been blinded by that smile. His hair that curled with the rain and sweat that he loved to style with pomade. How loyal he was, caring, selfless. He was an asshole, and a pain in the ass that liked to joke and make people laugh, with so much good inside. Steve felt so much for him. Still feels, he thinks looking down at his hands. 

“Yeah. More than that. He was... He was everything to me. A best friend, a family, a lover, the most supportive and annoying and just downright good partner. Everything I could have hoped for.” He closes his eyes and allows himself to take a deep breath. He can feels some tears on his eyeballs. 

“We kept joking that our first date was that fight I got into that he joined to help me when we were barely 9. That all the alley fights and double dates after that were in fact our very own dates. Doesn't mean he liked seeing me being beat down, but he never stopped me.” Once the words are out, he can’t stop. 

“You know, lot of people thought he would be the bad one, and me a small angel. We were really the same. Every time I complained about my body? The fact that I was small and weak? He would knocked me on the head and tell me the toughen up. He pushed me. Taught me how to fight when he understood I’d never stop. How to throw punches, fight dirty. Throw dirt and bricks at guys to knocked them down cause I didn’t have enough strength in my arms. Never stopped at my body, but sure as hell wouldn’t let me be stopped by it. 

“When I was on the verge of giving up? Gave me a pep talk and pushed me to be better. I’d be happy if I gave him half of what he’s done for me. I was such a brat with him.” Steve makes a wet laugh. 

“When did you get together?” Asks Natasha. He’s not sure she wanna listen to that. But maybe she sees he needs to talk more than he needs to be listened. 

“Around summer of 39. I sort of knew when I was 17, when I realized I looked at Bucky the same way couple did. Didn’t really strike me until that summer. Bucky told me he always felt like that toward me, but his shitty father made it hard for him to see it was okay. Then he knocked some sense in my catholic guilt-ridden ass, and we never really stopped loving each other. 

“It was nice. We had to hide, but our neighborhood was strange enough to not complain at 2 friends in the same flat. He took enough girls dancing to get a skirt-chaser reputation, and I kept drawing girls for cards and ads to not worry people. We had our own little world inside our flat. 

“There were also a few queer places. Always got shot down, but another would pop up the next month, and we’d go there instead of the other one. Didn’t do that much though.” Steve remembers those nights. They would get all dressed up in their nicest clothes, and go to some hidden bar where they had to give passwords to get in, and then dance together with a real band and not the old radio in their flat. Would drink a few beers too, or share one if they didn’t have enough money. Those were the best night, walking side by side until they could hold each other again in the comfort of their home later. 

“Then the war came. Guess you read the paper? The reports and books.” 

“I did. But it doesn’t hold the whole truth. Never mentioned Captain’s lover.” He hears Natasha’s small chuckle. Can’t tell if it’s honest or just for show. He wants to believe she’s being as honest as he is right now. 

“Yeah. I wanted to serve. Bucky came with his order one day, after his training, shipped out the very night. I felt so betrayed, thought he was abandoning me, leaving me there doing nothing while he saved the world. Almost like he was nagging me with his uniform while I was still small and useless to the army.” He doesn’t hold back the memories that flood him. “You know the worst?” He looks at Natasha. Wait for his breath to calm down. 

“What?” 

“He didn’t enlist. He was drafted. At Azzano, he kept saying his number. 32557038. Until then, I didn’t know. 3 is for soldier that are drafted. Never told me. Never told me he didn’t wanted the war, didn't wanted to leave me here with my 4F and our flat alone. He never wanted that, but he went anyway. Became the best sniper so he could come home. And I joined him there. And I lost him there, too. 

“Couldn't reach him on that train. Played the scene over and over in my head. I keep wondering if it was the metal that didn’t hold up or if he let go so I wouldn’t risk my life saving him. That’s when I tried to get drunk. Found out I couldn’t, too. Couldn’t stop seeing him screaming as he fell.” 

He feels Natasha hand resting lightly on his shoulders. That’s when he realize there’s tears on his cheeks. Not much, but enough to make him sob silently. He let the guilt, the fear, the horror, the weight of the grief and the sorrow take over him. Didn’t know he had all of those still inside. He was so sure he cried them all out that night after he fell. 

He turns his head, Natasha is looking straight at him. She let her blank face down, she wears a soft sadness, maybe empathy. He’s not so sure, but she lets herself be vulnerable now. He shakes his head. 

“I woke up from a plane crash and 70 years under artic ice. You know what that means? That means I could have very survived the fall. I could have jump after him. Even if he died from the fall, I could have at least got his body back. Have him buried back in Brooklyn, near our flat. I'm sure he’s still there, in the cold, alone.” 

“He’s not alone. The cold maybe be harsh, but you can’t never truly be alone. He’s with the ground now. With the wilderness.” It’s her words for rotting down a cliff. For helping with his body. For giving his life to Steve, to the world, to the war. And ultimately to the animals and plants there too. Her words for a man who gave too much and never got anything back. Steve hopes he shared enough love to keep his soul warm. 

He stares at her a while. He didn’t see her as the believing kind. People hold on what they can to ease the pain. 

“God, I’m sorry for dumping all of that on you.” She shrugs and takes her hand back. 

“You needed to. Don’t want you to think over it too much and fucks up missions. It’s nice to get the pus out before it rots everything inside.” 

“You got your own out?” He asks. She stays silent, long enough he starts to wonder she even heard him. 

“I don’t have anything left to rot inside me.” She almost whispers. 

“Guess you can still help the wilderness.” He half jokes. She’ll talk when she wants to. He knows she’s not like him, it’s rare to see her share. 

They look at the city skylines, the lights flickering, the cars driving by and the reflections from the party still inside behind them. She suddenly digs back her pack of cigarettes and takes two out. 

“Come on.” He takes one and let her light it. “Tell me a good thing about him. A good memory with Bucky. Not too sexual, I heard enough jokes from old politicians for a month. Finish it on a good note.” He seals his lips around the butt of the cigarette and takes one long drag. Doesn't taste like it used too, but it’s close enough, and the smell is the same. 

“Our first kiss." Steve smiles. Maybe there’s still a hint of sadness, but it’s mostly a soft one. “Very chaste, don’t worry. It was during that summer, so hot, I thought we would die there trying to not melt...” 

They stay for maybe an hour there. He told her a few memories, but he quickly changed the subject. He feels better. Lighter, now that he’s not under the burden of that secret alone. Natasha told him she expects some stories of his time. Stories with Bucky, of how it was back then, how they managed to live. But she also wants the things they don’t write about from the war and before from the 30s, the ‘juicy stories’ as she put it, and the Howlies and Carter and the History that didn’t made it to the books. 

They smoked through the pack together, slowly. It's nice. He doesn’t want to forget Bucky. He never will, he doesn't think he can. But making new memory, making new connections? That he can do.


End file.
